Best Sunday Ever
by serenelystrange
Summary: Domestic science boyfriends little fic for a friend who is having a bad day. Tony decides that if he's awake, Bruce needs to be, too. Fluff. And sex. But mostly fluff. Hope you like!


"Wakey wakey, Bruuuce."

Bruce wrinkles his nose, but only burrows deeper into the blanket, ignoring Tony.

Tony, hopped up on caffeine and wide awake, decides that a sleeping Bruce isn't good enough, and moves straddle his back, digging his knees into Bruce's side just enough to make him grumble.

"It's 4 in the morning, Tony," Bruce says, still in a sleep slurred voice.

"You're an early riser, I'm awake early, I don't see the problem here. In fact, all I see is the wonderful opportunities three whole hours before anybody else is awake gives us."

"Doesn't count if you haven't gone to bed yet," Bruce says, biting his lip to keep from laughing and thus encouraging Tony.

"Totally counts," Tony argues, "And I know you want to laugh. Give in, Doctor Banner."

Bruce does, laughing as he smacks Tony to lift up, allowing him to turn onto his back. He looks up at Tony, blinking against the sudden light of the arc reactor in the still-dark room, and gives him a happy smile.

"I gave in months ago," he says, "Or have you already forgotten?"

Tony grins, wide and mischievous, and rolls his hips once, chuckling when Bruce bucks up against him.

"I'll never forget that day," he replies. "The best Sunday ever."

"It was a Wednesday," Bruce says, reaching up to run his thumb across Tony's cheekbone before moving to flick him on the ear.

"I was close," Tony says, leaning down until he's braced on either side of Bruce and his lips are right next to Bruce's ear.

"Whatever day it was, it was the best."

He waits a beat for Bruce's smile, the one he gets whenever Tony gets unexpectedly sentimental.

"Now, are you going to get rid of the covers so I can ride you, or am I going to have to…amuse myself?"

And there's that sudden gasp of breath that Tony never gets tired of hearing.

The blanket and sheet are gone in an instant and Tony's hard just from the look in Bruce's eyes.

"Were you working naked, again?" Bruce asks, suddenly realizing that Tony is, in fact, already nude.

"Not exactly," Tony says, slicking Bruce's cock up and lowering himself onto it with very little resistance.

"Tony!" Bruce cries, half in pleasure, half in concern for Tony and his lack of preparation.

"I've been bored for hours," Tony says, shrugging. "Didn't want to wake you up yet."

"So you… fuck, Tony!" Bruce tries to ask, losing his words when Tony shifts just right.

"Yep," Tony says, leaning down so they're chest to chest, his hips meeting Bruce's thrusts with every motion. "Fucked myself open nice and slow with the toys, then harder and harder, over and over, and I came so hard I didn't think I'd be able to walk after."

"And then what?" Bruce asks, breathlessly, hands gripping Tony's hips tightly, just a hint of green tingeing the edges of his eyes.

"And then I took a shower and a break," Tony says, "Come on, man, I'm in my forties."

Bruce laughs loudly at that, sweet and free; and Tony's pretty sure this is his very favorite side of Bruce.

"I know this is against my very nature," Tony says, "but we should shut up now."

Suddenly he's on his back and Bruce is braced above him, sucking a hard mark into his neck as he resituates himself inside Tony.

"Fucking hell, love when you do that," Tony says, hooking his ankles together around Bruce's back.

"I know," Bruce says, and Tony can _feel_ his smirk.

"Fuck!" Tony moans, because whatever train of thought he had is long gone now.

All he can feel is Bruce, around him and inside him, and he's so close it almost hurts.

"Come on," Bruce whispers, pumping Tony's dick in time with his thrusts, biting into his neck just a little harder than he probably should. Just the way Tony likes it.

Tony finally does stop talking as his orgasm hits him, words melting into incoherent moans that are at least seventy-five percent Bruce's name.

Bruce never does get tired of hearing Tony say his name like that.

He comes slower, like a rolling wave, and it lingers through his body even after he's pulled himself away and lain down beside Tony.

When they catch their breath, Bruce remembers the sticky mess they've made and nudges his shoulder against Tony's.

"We should clean up," he says, even if his words are contradicted by a yawn.

"Later," Tony says, moving to lie on his stomach and turn his head toward Bruce.

He reaches out and grabs Bruce's hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. He's suddenly exhausted.

Bruce rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, tugging the blanket up to cover them, before leaning over and pressing an almost chaste kiss to Tony's lips.

Tony's eyes blink open for just a moment and catch Bruce's, and all Bruce can see is warmth and love and home.

Now this, Bruce thinks, is the best Sunday ever.

THE END


End file.
